


JoyRide

by tisfan



Series: MCU Kink Bingo [23]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consentacles, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Other, Rimming, Sex Pollen, Sounding, Tentacle Sex, alien lube job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 02:27:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13514802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Aliens run out of fuel near earth. The spaceship runs on joy. At least that’s what Tony is told.Joy, apparently, is alien for quite a lot of sex, thank you.





	JoyRide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KiraStain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiraStain/gifts).



> A/n: This one really got away from me (as you can see) clocking in at over 8,000 words. The prompt for this was originally supposed to be WinterIronDoom but as Kink Bingo is restricted to MCU characters and actors, Doom had to go. 
> 
> (Doom is quite grouchy about this!)
> 
> Note: The JoyRide is a semi-sentient, empathic machine. The dub-con is for poorly understood agreements (the aliens might not exactly be forthcoming about what Tony and Bucky are agreeing to). That being said, JoyRide runs on, you guessed it joy which means when things switch up from oh god, oh god, to GOD NO! the ship would have stopped what it was doing. Tony and Bucky don’t know that, and Tony gets a little freaked out from time to time, but he does, actually, like it.

The nice thing about Stark Tek was that the encryption was top notch. When Friday’s little backdoor satellite program had spotted the incoming spacecraft, she’d given it a blackout, and promptly redirected all information to Tony’s private terminal. Call him paranoid, but enough aliens had landed on Earth, made a mess, and didn’t clean up after themselves, that Tony wanted control over the information, at least enough to make an initial assessment.

A single craft, smallish, with an almost drunken orbit (And Tony knew _drunk_ , so he recognized it) and no recognizable weapons systems. That was… oddly promising.

And then the whole ship appeared to be made from some extraterrestrial material -- unknown, was Friday’s take on it -- and that just sealed the deal. Tony had Friday set up a few Come Fucking Rescue Me alerts, jumped into his light-weight, high-speed armor, and took off to track the vehicle’s path. According to the latest telemetry, the ship was going to put itself down on a barely qualified as island in the Mediterranean sea, somewhere to the east of Malta.

More like a glorified rock, Tony thought as Friday pulled up satellite scans of the piece of real estate in question, and it wasn’t even that difficult to purchase it. Maybe he could use an island in the Mediterranean.

“You already have two, boss,” Friday told him. Cheeky girl. Tony loved her to pieces.

The bad thing about Stark Tek…

Was that it wasn’t the best on the planet, not by a long shot, these days.

He touched down on the north end of the rock maybe fifteen minutes after the alien craft landed. And two minutes after he got there, a quinjet uncloaked and landed not five hundred yards away.

“Fuck me,” Tony muttered. He did not have his advanced combat suit with him, and the only people who had access to Quinjets who weren’t also heavily monitored by Friday (read: SHIELD, because Tony never really let his surveillance die on them after the whole debacle with the Tesseract) was King T’challa, which meant the occupants of the Quinjet were probably people who Tony didn’t want to see, and didn’t particularly want to see Tony, either.

Yep. Called it. Tony would just love to be wrong, for once.

The Winter Soldier, aka Bucky goddamn Barnes, strode down the gangplank on the jet, all killer thighs and murder strut, looking like his goddamn combat face paint was fucking mascara or something. Really, did the guy have to be so gorgeous? It was like one of those horrible nightmares that Tony couldn’t wake up from. Naked in high school, forgot to sit an exam at MIT, being inexplicably attracted to and aroused by the man who’d murdered his parents and tried to rip Tony’s goddamn heart out.

“Hey, Winter Smolder, no need for you to be here, got it all under control,” Tony told him. He kept his face mask up, though, because controlling his expression wasn’t his best skill these days around certain _people_ and that’s what he wore a mask for in the first place, right?

“I’m working off my debt,” Barnes said. “Also, bored spitless. This thing came up on the feed and someone expendable needed to check it out.”

“You’re not expendable,” Tony muttered. Well, so much for keeping it impersonal, but really, that attitude was ninety percent of his problem with Steve fucking Rogers. Some people were expendable; there were always casualties, collateral damage. And those things were not fucking _acceptable_. And it did not matter to Tony that Tony was the one deemed collateral damage in the efforts to preserve Bucky Barnes. Or, you know. Mostly didn’t matter. No one was expendable, that was the goddamn point.

Barnes didn’t bother to acknowledge that. “I’ll take point,” he said, and that was just smart because there was no way in hell that Tony was letting Barnes at his back. But, some sort of teamwork might not be the worst idea, and so Tony didn’t argue, even though it was his base instinct to argue with every goddamn thing, just… he didn’t even know anymore. It got to be that he didn’t even recognize it when people agreed with him anymore. A true rarity, more precious than pearls.

And, privately, very privately, Tony admitted the view was pretty good from the rear.

The space going vessel was… weirdly smooth and reflective, like a teardrop of mercury; if tears were somewhat larger than a one room flat in Queens.

The door, such as it was, opened and Barnes earned a bit of Tony’s respect by not immediately going for his weapon, but that took up only a tiny corner of Tony’s brain. The rest of it was busy observing the aliens themselves, and their ship.

Door was probably the wrong word. The ship opened up an… opening. (Damnit vocabulary didn’t go well with alien tech) like it was yawning. There was no seam, no solid moving pieces. Just a round hole where there wasn’t one before. It reminded Tony, chillingly, of the very old special effects methodology they used for the Terminator 2000. Completely liquid, formable, metal.

“Friday, record everything, all of it, and send it home immediately, priority one.”

“Already on it, boss.”

The aliens were mostly humanoid -- they frequently seemed to be, despite the biological disadvantage that bipedal species probably had on other planets -- with pale blueish skin and dozens of white tendrils that protruded from their heads where hair might have been. One of them had an additional cluster of tendrils below its mouth. Tony wasn’t sure if those indicated gender, rank, or just preference.

The problem with aliens, Tony decided, was that you could not -- under any circumstances -- allow yourself to put them in boxes. One simply couldn’t afford the risk, by assessing an alien life form as tired, dizzy, dehydrated. Which was, pretty much, the general impression that he got, as they staggered out of their ship and practically fell to their reasonable facsimiles of knees.

“This is probably the part where you should tell them we come in peace,” Barnes said, keeping his voice low.

“They’re the ones who came here,” Tony pointed out. “They should be reassuring _us_.”

The two aliens remained where they were, practically kneeling at Tony’s feet, which was super weird and not at all creepy, making soft, humming sounds. From time to time their head tendrils (tentacles? Super extra™ hair? Something.) would wind together. Like sentient snakes or something. All medusa-eque or something.

“Hi,” Tony ventured.

The humming got louder, almost frantic, and then one of the aliens got up, the one with chin tendrils, as opposed to the other one, which increasingly looked like it wanted to take a nap (Tony could sympathize. He’d been short of sleep for decades now.) The creature held out a hand (what else could he possibly call it, three fingers, opposable thumb -- even if it was on the wrong side and that looks so, so very uncanny valley amounts of wrong -- and a palm that could have cupped water) to Tony.

“Uh.”

“Shoulda called in some of the brainiacs that study aliens, huh?”

“Shut it, popsicle,” Tony snapped. He did not need Bucky Barnes giving him a lesson in impulse control.

That was a mistake -- probably. Taking his eyes off the alien in front of him long enough to get a reading on Barnes -- posture indicated relaxed, but his heart rate and blood pressure were up enough to reveal some sort of nerves -- and the alien grabbed him with that hand. Appendage. Whatever.

And then it got weird. Because it wasn’t weird enough already.

The alien pulled him forward and the hair tentacles came up and touched him. They shouldn’t have been able to get through the suit, shouldn’t have been able to reach skin, shouldn’t have been able to do any of that, and--

“Friday, Friday, girl, what the hell are--”

“Boss!”

“Don’t you open this suit, don’t you fucking--”

Tony found himself… looking at himself. Backward, sort of. Like, the whole scene flipped and he was on the other side of it.

_I’m seeing through its eyes._

“Hi,” the him that wasn’t him, but that had been him, said.

 _The. Fuck._ is this shit?

“Shut it, popsicle,” the Tony that wasn’t Tony said.

“Are you-- talking to me?”

“... talking to… _brainiac_. _Popsicle_.”

Tony had to laugh at that, because it was just absurd.

The alien -- Tony could sort of still see it, under the image of himself, like he was drawn on onion skin paper and the real thing was just below -- turned an interesting shade of pink, almost like it was blushing, and Tony got the disconcerting, but inescapable idea that he’d… told it something that he didn’t mean to say.

The one alien hummed at the other, their head tentacles twining together. That had to be how they communicated, that much was obvious, but Tony wasn’t really sure how to put together a common lexicon. Barnes, annoying as he was, might have been right. Tony was a little more used to the shoot first and ask questions later sort of alien invaders.

The suit was decidedly open, off, non-functional. Tony was aware of the heat of the sun through the flight undersuit, the prickle of sweat along the back of his neck. The sound of Barnes’s breathing. The chin tentacles reached out, and Tony didn’t even know why he couldn’t take a step backward, couldn’t put safe space between the alien and himself, and then the tentacles were in his mouth, poking at his ears, and Barnes was yelling. The sound of a weapon being brought to bear.

“No, no, wait--” Tony held up a hand, barely managing to talk through the mouthful of alien calamari, but… it was… picking through his brain, like he was a goddamn card catalog. Encyclopedia Stark or something.

{Lexicon. Words. Speak.}

{Not hurting. Just learning.}

Fuck. Double fuck, if they were going to read someone’s mind, his was a damn dangerous one to have in their possession. All Earth’s tech, defenses, math, philosophy, theory…

{No hurting. Just…} Tony got a flash of imagery. A battery indicator light on a phone, the E on a gas tank gauge. {Need recharge. Not staying. Only learning enough to speak. You help. You _can_ help.}

_Help how?_

{Refuel. Ship runs on. Happy. We tired. Need rest. Food. You charge. We make trade.}

_Trade for what?_

{Smart metal.} The alien gestured and a part of its goddamn ship just… came to it. Like a puppy. It coiled around the alien’s wrist. {Semi-sentient. For you. For popsicle. For hours. Six hours? You fuel ship. We rest. We go.}

 _That’s it? Just fuel the ship? It won’t hurt us?_ Tony was too damn tempted by new technology, which is something he really should put on his cv along with genius, billionaire, etc.

{Little tired. Much joy. Ship runs--} there was a burst of static in Tony’s head that almost had him clamping his hands over his ears, certainly he would have if he’d been able to move at all. {--joy. You and Popsicle. Fuel ship. We trade.}

Tony eyed the little bracelet blob of semi-sentient metal. Six… six hours.

Hell, he’d been waterboarded before for six hours, he could manage… being happy? That’s what is sounded like, the ship fed on endorphins, maybe. Brain waves? Newton only knew. But Tony could figure it out, maybe.

“So, ug--” he pushed with his tongue until the alien’s little brain touchy weird tentacle things, and while he was at it, why the fuck did they taste like cherries? “They want to trade. Six hours of us helping them refuel their ship while they take an extended smoke break. For that little blob of semi-sentient metal goop.”

“Is goop a technical term?”

“I don’t know what they call it. Sounds like static in my head. So I guess we don’t have a word for it.”

“Is that what they’re doing? Using you as a kinda universal translator?”

“They appear to be telepathic, of sorts. Their little tendril things, I think, is how it’s talking to me,” Tony said. Yeah, definitely cherries. So weird.

“I’m s’posed t’ report back to T’challa,” Barnes said. “S’ere gonna be enough for both you and his highness?”

Tony stared at him. “I think if you help fuel the ship, it’s _your_ weird space metal.” Not that he had any idea what Barnes would do with weird, semi-intelligent space metal goo. Damn, that really needed a better name.

“What do we gotta do?”

“I’m not entirely clear on the details. Be happy, it sounds like,” Tony said.

“Not ‘xactly somethin’ I’m good at, these days,” Barnes pointed out. “Nor you, neither.”

“Excuse you,” Tony said. “I’m happy enough.”

“Don’t kid a kidder, Stark. You’re barely holdin’ it together most days. I seen you on the news. _Happy_ ain’t in your vocabulary.”

Well, maybe Barnes had a point. But, but, but… space goo. Feeling just a little like a baby bird, Tony opened his mouth to let the mind tentacles back in.

Huh. Now they were more like… mint flavored. He didn’t even have to give words to his questions, the alien played the whole thing back in his head.

{Ship will make you feel joy. Is… necessary for it. You tell, breed more, give it joy. ::burst of static:: Energy required. It will tell you.}

 _It breeds? Semi-intelligent space goop that_ breeds?

Okay, seriously, Tony had to have some. Had to. It was a moral imperative.

{You agree. Popsicle agrees, for his keeper. We agree. We go, get food, get water, get rest. You stay. Touch ship, together, when ready. Tell it you wish to provide joy. You will provide.}

The alien dragged Tony over to Barnes, used the head tentacles to push their hands at each other. {Together. You will provide.}

“And now I’m holding hands with, seriously, like my seventeenth worst enemy,” Tony said. “I really need to think about getting professional help.”

“Seventeenth?” Barnes commented, mildly, looking down at their twined fingers.

“There’s a line, what can I say?”

“I’m sure a lot of things,” Barnes said. “I’m jus’ curious on how you arrived at seventeen, precisely.”

“Yeah, move yourself off the top twenty, and maybe we can talk about it over tea and crumpets. But for now, to start up this refueling process, apparently we need to touch the ship,” Tony said, trying to ignore the fact that Barnes’ metal hand was warm, and his fingers were interlinked with Tony’s without apparent distress. “Together.”

“Where?”

“I dunno, anywhere, I guess.”

“And it’s gonna make up happy, an’ use that for fuel?”

Really, Barnes needed to stop asking questions, because he was making Tony nervous.

“Sometimes you gotta run before you can crawl,” Tony said. He probably couldn’t, actually, pull Barnes anywhere -- Supersoldier and all that jazz -- but he tugged, and Barnes went. Tony had just a brief moment of something not quite related to a cautionary instinct, long enough to wonder if it was bad that Barnes was so agreeable, or if there was something of his brainwashing left (Shuri was supposed to have taken care of that, and she was, at least, smarter than Tony in the matter of brain chemistry, so there was that) but by then it was too late.

Barnes’ right hand went out to touch the ship at the same instant that Tony’s left hand brushed over the smooth, silvery surface.

Much too late…

***

Bucky was used to people fucking with his head. Steve had done it, decades ago, without even being aware. Getting Bucky into fights that Bucky would rather have not touched with a ten foot pole, and then being all five feet of righteous indignation about it, and Bucky would swear, he would swear, he wasn’t going to get dragged into another one of Steve’s messes. Pah, yeah, like that ever happened. And then the US Army had done it, preparing for him to go overseas and kill people who were just as terrified as he was, who had families at home just like he did. Dreams and ambitions and favorite foods. Hydra had done it, a million times worse. And then Steve again, who broke through decades of conditioning by just being _familiar_. More Hydra, and then, most recently, Princess Shuri had… rebooted him like a damn computer.

So when he touched the ship and his head filled with images, feelings, pictures, the shuffle of his memories, Bucky wasn’t exactly… surprised.

He rode it out like a wave; eventually it would stop and he would come to shore. Or he’d start screaming.

At this point, he wasn’t much sure it mattered anymore.

He was… very aware of Stark’s hand in his. The new arm had more sensors; he could feel heat and pressure and texture. He should not have been able to feel goddamn butterflies in his stomach like he was going to a high school dance, but he did. And that was even before they touched the ship and all the weird stuff started happening.

Bucky was every sort of idiot, he told himself, as they stood there. Letting Stark talk him into this. Wanting Stark’s hand in his. Wanting more than that, if he had to be honest, and apparently he did.

His fingers moved over the ship, light and easy. It was like touching liquid; it moved and spread and seeped around on his skin. It was like touching a solid, smooth and supple and strange and slippery under his fingertips. It was hot, cold. Warm. Some temperature that didn’t really exist, until it was absolutely neutral and absolutely still.

“Weird,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, I don’t, uh--”

Something snaked around his ankle.

“Woah!” Stark yelped and something else snaked around their joined hands until their wrists were bound together.

Bucky tugged, but whatever it was -- the same silvery hue as the ship, the same weird feel/not-feel -- was strong. Damn strong. He put more effort into trying to free himself, but more tendrils wrapped around him until he was pulled up off the ground, limbs splayed out, not quite uncomfortable. His hand still joined with Stark’s, and his knuckles ached where Stark was clamping down.

The tendrils, tentacles, space probes, whatever they were -- they came directly out of the ship, forming and growing and changing and moving. Part of the ship.

It didn’t hurt, and despite all logic telling Bucky that he should be utterly terrified, he should be struggling, he should… he wasn’t. He was calm, a little curious. He let his head tip back and a tentacle wrapped around his neck, then supported his head. Like swimming, or floating in space. (Had he been to space, he didn’t know anymore. He’d always sort of wanted to go to space, that would be cool.)

Tony’s hand, and he was Tony now, relaxed in his. Like it had taken Tony just a little longer to give up to whatever was happening.

“You okay, popsicle?” Tony asked him.

Bucky licked his lips. God, Tony’s voice sent shivers right down his spine, heat and longing that pooled there. “Yeah, I’m… great, actually. You?”

“Kinda want to be freaking out, a bit, because you know, there are some really weird Japanese videos that this is reminding me of.”

“But you can’t, can you?”

“Not really,” Tony said. “It’s… nice. Kinda. It should be weird. Feels like it should be weird but…”

“We’re supposed to be happy, right?” Bucky asked. “I… uh… don’t know if I remember it, anymore.”

The tendrils nudged at him, tip ends poking at him here and there. It didn’t hurt, more like it was curious. The one around his throat tightened, not enough to cut off his breathing, but enough that he could feel the pulse pounding in his neck. It wrapped around his hair, twisting and twining through the unkempt locks. He’d kept meaning to get a haircut, he looked like a ragamuffin, but every time he thought about doing it, he started wondering why it mattered what he looked like.

Another nudge, a poke and--

“What’s it doing?” Bucky couldn’t move his head, couldn’t see anything but the trees and sky, but the tendril was pulling at his heel, and then… his boot came off, a shiver of cooler air against his sock. Another tug, and the tendril wrapped around his toes, then the sock came off with it. His skin was bare against the air surrounding him.

The tentacle poked at his foot, slick and slippery and light and Bucky jerked his knee involuntarily. “Hey!”

Bucky made a noise, and for just a moment, he didn’t even _recognize_ it, because it’d probably been almost seventy years since the last time he’d laughed. The tentacle-thing was still poking at the bottom of his foot, and he couldn’t pull his leg away from it, and goddamnit, that tickled, and it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, that was goddamn _cheating_ , because--

“Woah!” Tony yelped again, and Bucky was turned just enough so he could see. The cluster of tendrils holding Tony up had him in a mostly kneeling position, one arm stretched straight up, the other reaching out to touch Bucky’s outstretched fingers. Another cluster of them were exploring along Tony’s black underflight suit, finding zippers and snaps and tugging them open. A single silvery strand slithered into the opening at Tony’s wrist. Bucky watched as the end made its way up Tony’s sleeve until Tony was squeaking, a rapid series of panting breaths and suppressed giggles.

A tendril snaked its way into the ankle of Bucky’s combat pants, twining around his knee, up along his thigh. “Oh, oh, no, no, no, no, no.” Bucky struggled, couldn’t not. He wasn’t panicked, not exactly, but it was weird, and it was tickly, and it was unbearable.

His other boot came off, followed by the sock, and more tendrils up his pants. A longer one wrapped around his waist and then started prodding at his zipper.

“What the _hell_?” Bucky’s attention went back to Tony. His underflight suit was peeled down to his waist on one side, and for just a few seconds, their hands unlinked as the tendrils stripped off Tony’s other sleeve.

The instant Bucky lost contact with Tony, everything changed.

Panic swamped in, choking him. Fear and disgust and humiliation and shame and, oh jesus christ, was that thing _inside his underwear_? Bucky struggled, then, like he was drowning, kicking and flailing at the weird, living machine that held him.

Tony was screaming. “Get it off, oh my god, get it--”

Bucky _reached_.

“Tony!” He stretched as far as he could, couldn’t quite make it. “Tony, reach for me!”

“I can’t, I can’t,” Tony was whimpering. “It’s under my arm, oh, god, make it--”

“Tony, you gotta help me,” Bucky whispered. It was all he could do, he couldn’t stand this, couldn’t. He was going to lose his fucking mind, and there wasn’t that much of it left. The ship was still probing at him, seeking, searching, _wriggling_ and it was just so damn invasive. “Tony, please.”

Tony squealed helplessly, then stretched. Bucky lunged, and their fingertips met, and then, “I got ya,” Tony said, locking his fingers around Bucky’s wrist. As soon as the connection closed, it faded again.

Bucky panted for breath, and Tony was snorting and snickering and his arm kept jerking as he tried to lower it, to protect his vulnerable armpit, but Bucky kept hold. It didn’t tickle any less, in fact without the fear to damp it down, it was pretty intense, but he could bear it. Mostly. Sort of.

A sudden tug and movement, and--

“Oh, good lord,” Tony whispered, staring up at Bucky. Cool air rushed over Bucky’s legs and the tendrils that were curled around his thighs had freer rein, now that his pants were being waved around like a goddamn flag by a couple of tendrils.

Bucky was just getting ready to be grateful that Tony couldn’t actually see what the tendrils were doing _inside_ his drawers when they split in a sudden tearing of cloth.

“Fucking hentai goddamn anime,” Tony said, breathlessly, and Bucky wondered if that was even _English_.

Knowing that Tony was looking, that Tony was seeing just made it more intense. The tendril was wrapped around Bucky’s cock, rolling over it and squeezing, drawing it out, and Tony was _watching_. Watching like he couldn’t look away, like seeing the tentacle stroking Bucky’s dick was fascinating, and the low-grade _no, really, dick, can we just not_ sort of basic control that he’d exercised over that unruly part of himself vanished.

He swelled and filled and, oh, god, the squeeze around his dick was brutal and glorious and uncompromising and Bucky couldn’t suppress a low moan.

“Oh, jesus, cupcake, look at you,” Tony said. And then Tony moaned, arching his back as two smaller tendrils twisted around his nipples, plucking at them until they peaked, and then swirled around. “Oh, god, that’s… that’s so fucking weird!”

“No, no, no, _wait_ ,” Bucky said, firmly, as the tendrils started yanking at his shirt, trying to pull the sleeve down. “No! I will help you, stop that, _don’t…_ ” He couldn’t bear to let go of Tony again, to suffer alone in his head while all his volition was stolen away from him and he was utterly, utterly _aware_ of it. Whatever they were doing, whatever crazy hormone and brainwave thing the spaceship was doing to him, the connection to Tony made it okay, made it… good. _Great_ , even. He could stand it, as long as Tony didn’t stop touching him.

The tendrils peeled off one sleeve, and then Bucky was reaching for Tony with that hand, his right hand, and when Tony grasped him, they were practically face to face, both hands linked for a long moment, and that was even more intense, everything erupted into fire and longing, as the sensation, the circuit, joined a second time.

“Oh, fucking hell,” Tony said, and Bucky opened his mouth to ask what the problem was--

There wasn’t any goddamn problem. Tony had lunged forward and captured Bucky’s mouth with his own, kissing him thoroughly, wet and wanton, like he had something to prove. Bucky made a soft little whimper and Tony swallowed it whole, licking into Bucky’s mouth. A third connection, and everything _trebled_.

Bucky didn’t think he’d ever felt so good in his whole life. Maybe, maybe one distant memory of waking up when he was thirteen and remembering that Molly Longwell had promised him a kiss for his birthday. Nothing hurt, and he didn’t have a whole carload full of bad memories, and he was going to _kiss a girl_ that day. That one fleeting moment might have been able to hold a candle to this.

Maybe.

“Oh, god, oh god,” Bucky murmured against Tony’s mouth, before losing any desire whatsoever to do anything aside from kiss and touch and explore. He licked at Tony’s lip, eager to see what sensations he could wring out of the man, what sounds he could draw from Tony’s throat.

“They’re conditioning us,” Tony said, when Bucky moved away from Tony’s mouth to trace a line to his ear.

“What?” It almost didn’t matter. And Tony certainly didn’t stop kissing or stroking at Bucky either. The tendrils had them completely naked by that time, tentacles wrapping around them to hold their thighs pressed tight to one another. Bucky’s right hand was tugged and pulled until his hand was near Tony’s hip, the metal hand low on Tony’s back, and even if he could move, he didn’t fucking want to. God it was good, it had never been this good, and Bucky just wanted, more and more and _more_ of it.

“Listen to me,” Tony told him. Which was not the easiest thing to do because Tony was biting at his earlobe while he talked, his hips moving restlessly against Bucky’s, and his fingers were twined in Bucky’s hair, tugging on the strands, sending tingling bursts of sensation across Bucky’s scalp. “They’re conditioning us. Making us _need_ it. Positive reinforcement. I touch you, it feels good. When I don’t touch you, it feels bad.”

“Yeah?” This wasn’t anything that Bucky hadn’t figured out, just not precisely in those words. “So?” Wasn’t the ship supposed to make them feel _joy_?

And wasn’t that what this was?

Pure, unadulterated joy.

Tony’s hand was dragged down Bucky’s chest and he thumbed over Bucky’s nipple. Bucky practically screamed, his spine curving to push himself into that touch. Everything in him clenched up, shivering muscle spasms of delight.

“What happens,” Tony wondered, “when they _stop_?”

“No, no, no, no,” Bucky murmured, finding the perfect spot at the corner of Tony’s jaw to lick and nuzzle at. “No, no, don’t stop, I don’t want to stop.”

“Did you see them?” Tony wasn’t stopping, in fact somehow, he’d managed to hook a leg over Bucky’s hip and was rutting against him urgently. Velvet heat and hardness, rubbing against Bucky’s thigh, brushing against his cock. He wanted to stroke himself against Tony’s cock, feel their lengths rubbing together, that would feel good, wouldn’t it? So good, so _very_ good. “Those aliens. When they came out of the ship. They were exhausted. Worn down. Who the fuck knows how long they’ve been on this ship… _fucking_.”

“Six hours,” Bucky murmured, because he remembered that part, even with the delicious things that were happening to his body, the way Tony felt against him, the supple skin of his ass against Bucky’s palm. “Six hours to refuel. It’ll be fine, baby, I got you, don’t worry.”

“Oh, Christ, _Bucky_ ,” and Bucky surged forward, catching Tony’s mouth, because oh, god, he was going to come, just listening to Tony say his name, that was perfect, so goddamn perfect, and he tasted Tony’s tongue, sucked on his lip, scraped his teeth along Tony’s jaw. “Bucky, I’m not-- oh, there, that’s good, please… I’m not a supersoldier, I can’t _go_ for six hours, honey.”

“I _can_ ,” Bucky said, reassuringly. “You just let me, baby, I’ll make you feel good, I’ve got you, I’m gonna take care of you.”

“You’re going to kill me is what’s gonna happen here,” Tony said, which didn’t keep him from licking at Bucky’s neck, then nibbling, then biting until Bucky could feel his skin bruising. “But what a way to go, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. He’d have agreed with anything at that point, just do Tony would keep doing what he was doing, touching and licking, and there really were other things he’d like to do, but they were locked together, chest to chest, and his hands were still bound tight, being tugged around, but maybe the tentacles were learning them as well as driving them? Maybe… Bucky tried to pull his hand lower, stretching his fingers out to reach for Tony’s dick, wanting to stroke it and touch it until Tony was crying out from pleasure.

“It’s a bad idea, this is a bad idea, Buckybear, it’s--”

“Shut up,” Bucky growled. “I want to kiss you so bad it’s _killing_ me.”

“You are gonna hate me, when this is over,” Tony whimpered, and how the fuck could Tony still be unhappy, with all the feel-good that the ship was dumping into Bucky’s nervous system.

“Only Tony Stark could manage to out-worry an alien sexbot machine,” Bucky groaned. “It’s fine, baby doll. I want, I _want_ , god, Tony, please, I want you. After this is over, you can kick an’ scream an’ a fit about how damn stupid this was, an’ _seventeenth_ on your fuckin’ list, but I never thought of you as an enemy, and I have wanted you since the moment I saw you, so just shut up and fuckin’ deal with it.”

Tony inhaled, and that soft, luscious mouth of his dropped open in a shocked gasp. He was staring at Bucky like something important had been said, but damned if Bucky knew what it was. Looking at Bucky like Bucky was a liar, like he didn’t want, didn’t need, hadn’t been craving all along and that kind of challenge was just too much for him to resist.

He bent his head and watched Tony’s eyes flutter shut in acceptance, anticipation. The thrill of victory raced through him. He kissed Tony, almost chaste, almost sweet. Nothing like the wild biting and nipping at each other they’d been doing. A kiss to mean it. A kiss to mean everything.

“Oh, god, please, whatever you want,” Tony said.

Lust boiled through Bucky, until he felt singed, heated from the inside out as if he were burning alive and loving every second of it.

Dear, sweet, merciful heavens, Tony tasted good. _Let me have him._ _Please, do whatever you need, just let me have him._

He wasn’t sure if the ship could hear him, or could understand, but maybe it could, because the tendrils shifted around until Tony’s legs were spread wide, his hips rocked up so that Bucky could see him, see all of him, that furled opening, that glorious cock.

Tony made a sound, a slight grimace crossed his face, and then-- “Oh, oh, god, that’s weird!” one of the tendrils prodded lightly at Tony’s entrance. Tony squeaked, arched up, and then up some more, carried by the tentacles until Bucky’s mouth was right there.

_Wet. It needs to be wet, here._

Well, since he was there anyway… Bucky licked, swiping his tongue over Tony’s entrance.

“Oh, Jesus fuck, tell me that’s you doin-- oh god!” The tendrils arched Tony practically backward, his spine a beautiful, perfect curve, and Bucky’s hands went onto those splayed thighs to worship him, hold him still, while Bucky licked and flicked his tongue, fucked Tony with his mouth, one finger pushing inside. The tentacle wrapped itself alongside his finger, as if it was mimicking him, copying his motions, helping Bucky open Tony up. Learning from him.

Sparks of sensation danced along Bucky’s spine, across his muscles, and he realized that another one of those tendrils was probing at him, and it did feel weird, for a moment, slick and smoother than any finger or prick could. LIke a slender, prehensile dildo, if there was such a thing. Bucky licked, dragged his mouth over that fluttering, fluted opening, probed with his finger, then two. Kept flicking his tongue over it, little kitten licks that had Tony swearing and crying and shivering.

The rush of sensation made him dizzy, greedy for more.

Tony’s muscles trembled and quaked, thighs quivering delightfully as Bucky worked him open. When he got three fingers in, curled them up to stroke against Tony’s prostate, Tony screamed, wailed. Struggled madly against the tendrils, like he was trying to get away. Or trying to get closer. Not bloody likely, wasn’t happening. The tentacles held him fast. The one inside Tony, tangled up with Bucky’s fingers, seemed to get the idea, lightly brushing over that little spot of pleasure inside Tony’s body, teased it.

“Oh my god!” Tony was practically screaming with every breath, moaning and writhing wantonly as, instead of being teased with not enough sensation, he was being fucking overloaded. Bucky let his tongue flick over the tendril inside. _Good job, keep doing that._ “Oh, god. It’s so _much--_ ”

“It’s nice, shhh, baby, it’s okay, I got you,” Bucky told him, kissing Tony’s thighs. Licking at the overworked muscle, nuzzled at the soft, sensitive skin. Nudged and mouthed his way up, pausing to thoroughly lick and suck at Tony’s balls, which made him scream again, and then reduced him to desperate, urgent begging.

When Bucky raised his chin enough to see Tony’s cock, pretty and long and swollen hard enough to drill for diamonds, he understood why Tony was so damn desperate. Another tendril (jesus, how many of those things were there?) had slithered its way into his slit, plugging it up. There was no way Tony _could_ come, right now. In fact, he’d probably wanted to, the way that tendril was wrapped around his dick, pulsing and throbbing and squeezing.

Bucky leaned down, licked at Tony’s cock. The tendril moved, made way for him, and he swirled his tongue around the base.

“God, please, _please_ let me, oh my _fucking god_!” More tendrils came out, wrapping around Tony, holding him still as he bucked and twisted and writhed and prayed and cried and cursed.

Bucky took his time with it, licking and tasting and teasing. Got to the head and flicked his tongue over Tony’s ridge with just the very tip. Tony’s cock jerked and spasmed under him, balls drawing up tight and then, “oh, my christ, Bucky, please, help me, please…”

Bucky hummed thoughtfully, his mouth pressed against the shaft, running his lips up and down like he was playing a harmonica, listening to Tony’s frantic, desperate entreaties. Bucky could feel everything, delightful and delicious, and he wondered how long Tony could keep it up, how many times Bucky could almost draw him to the perfect pleasure.

He tasted the tendril, still plugging up Tony’s slit, licked all the way around it, and Tony was sobbing now, so beautiful, so eager. Bucky reached a hand down, discovered that the other tendril was still working away at Tony’s prostate. God, the man was probably near to being insane with sensation, with denial.

Bucky’s tongue slid around again, making contact with both Tony’s overstimulated dick and the tendril, making both jump and jerk and vibrate. Power and desire coursed through Bucky again, and he wasn’t sure which one was stronger; the need to let Tony come, listen to those gorgeous, heady sounds, or the need to deny him longer, until he was incoherent with it. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore between his need and Tony’s.

He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but Bucky followed his instincts, using his tongue and fingers to slowly work the tendril up and out. Each little tug and wiggle and Tony was crying out again, until Bucky was licking the tendril clean of Tony’s precome, a burst of salt and bitter along his tongue.

“I got you, I got you,” Bucky crooned, blowing cool air over Tony’s dripping wet prick, getting another one of those powerful, hoarse screams.

“I am going to _kill you_ ,” Tony threatened, “if you don’t let me come--”

“You like it,” Bucky told him, because it was probably true, because Bucky wanted it to be true, because Bucky needed it to be true. “You want me to.”

“I assure you, with everything in me, that I fucking love it, now will _you fucking get down to it_?” Tony’s voice cracked and broke on that last scream.

“Come on, love,” Bucky urged him, “gimme what I want.”

“What you… what you--”

Bucky swallowed Tony’s cock down, sucking hard and deep.

Tony didn’t even try to hold it back, he just screamed, arched up, thrusting into Bucky’s throat, and crashed apart.

Every muscle in Tony’s body tensed up; Bucky could feel him shaking with it, and knew that nothing else existed for Tony in that moment. He stayed that way for a ridiculously long time. Bucky stopped even trying to swallow the load that Tony was pushing out, wave after wave of it, letting it run down his chin and spill over his throat, and Tony kept… coming. For a lot longer than Bucky would have imagined.

Tony finally went limp, spent and exhausted and whining with every movement, as Bucky licked and soothed and blew cool air over overstimulated skin.

“That was gorgeous,” Bucky told him, wiping his chin with one arm, marveling at his ability to move around, while Tony was still held down, helpless and waiting on Bucky’s desires and wants. “I think I’d like to see it again.”

“Oh, no, no. It’s too soon, I… oh, jesus, that’s _sensitive_!” Tony twisted up, struggling to get closer.

“Yes,” Bucky told him, teasing. “I think you can go again. Look at this, baby, you’re already hard. Is that naughty little tendril still poking your prostate?”

“Ye-ee-hesss,” Tony whimpered, squirming.

Bucky licked up Tony’s cock, which stirred under his tongue. “It’s not too soon. That’s right, love, you give it to me.”

Tony shuddered all over. “Bossy,” he accused Bucky. “Bossy, mean, and _horrible_ , you’re just, oh christ, that’s…”

“It’s good, right?”

“Mean,” Tony repeated. “So mean. I--” Bucky took his mouth off Tony and stared at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Want me to stop?”

“No! I mean, Yes, I mean… oh, you fucking bastard, yes, yes, god, yes it’s _good_ , please…”

Tony was mindless with pleasure, finally accepting and desperate for whatever Bucky wanted to give him.

And Bucky wanted to give him so, so very much.

“I need to be inside you, baby, is that okay?”

Bucky needed it to be okay, he needed Tony to want it as much as Bucky wanted it, even if it was just this lie, this thing that the ship was doing to them both.

“Please. I… I need that. Want you to feel good too, cupcake.”

Bucky needed, needed to drive in so deep inside Tony that there was no separating them.

He reached down, tugged at the tendril that was side Tony’s ass--”Oh, god, that’s gross,” Tony whimpered. “Alien splooge… oh, god…”

But then Bucky lined up against Tony’s hole, slippery and hot and stretched from being toyed with by the ship’s tendrils, making it easy for Bucky to press in. He was shaking, shuddering, and Bucky slowly slid in, one agonizing, blissful inch at a time, testing, stretching. Tony was slick and perfect and Bucky was going to lose his goddamn mind, it felt so good.

He was never going to get enough of the sight of Tony splayed out, bound by the tendrils, chest and thighs rosy with desire, glowing with the aftermath of his orgasm, made just for Bucky’s use. Tony had been made to tempt him, torment him, and drive him insane with lust.

He loved every second of it.

He loved…

He loved _Tony_.

Tony’s eyes fluttered open as if somehow he’d heard that thought, which couldn’t be possible, could it? Those honey-brown eyes met his, and Tony smiled a slow, sexy smirk, the corner of his mouth turning up as if taunting Bucky, daring him to do it.

For a moment, Bucky couldn’t even breathe; he’d never felt anything like this before, this ragged, desperate desire.

“Tony?”

He wasn’t sure he could survive this, whatever it was.

“Fuck me. Do it now.”

Tony was his for the taking, so Bucky took it. Fucking into Tony’s body hard and fast and brutal. Exactly right. Tony threw his head back and cried out his pleasure. Bucky should have pulled back, or stayed still, let Tony adjust to him, but he just couldn’t. Not now. The frenzied need to bury himself in Tony’s body pulsed through him. He was shaking with the force of it. Tony’s heat, the way his muscles clenched, the way he made sweet, desperate noises with each thrust. Unable to stop himself from pressing onward, sliding deeper, making Tony take more and more of him.

Tony let out a ragged, exhausted moan, and then arched up, rubbing his cock between their bellies. “Please, I-- I need…”

Bucky got a hand in there, worked Tony’s still spit and come-slicked cock. The feel of Tony’s slippery heat around him was perfect, absolute precise ecstacy, and Bucky’s own release wasn’t far off. Senseless pleasure, burning, brilliant fire.

Tony’s body shuddered all over, and then he spilled over Bucky’s hand, clenching down enough that Bucky couldn’t move. Didn’t matter, his pleasure chased after Tony’s. Quaking inside him, Bucky came, jets of come, and when Tony loosened a bit to let Bucky move, everything was super slippery, beautiful, brilliant, achingly wonderful.

Tony trembled with aftershocks, each one milking another surge of sensation out of Bucky until they were both shivering violently. Bucky could feel everything, all at once, and it was the most incredible, most pure sensation he’d ever known.

“Oh, god,” Tony managed.

“You okay?”

Tendrils wrapped around him again, moving them. Not quite far enough away that they couldn’t touch, but changing things. Sliding Tony down, moving Bucky over.

Tony groaned. “Again? _Already_?” Bucky managed to open his eyes enough to realize that another tendril, this one thick, and darker in color, was probing at Tony’s opening, pushing in and fucking him, slow.

“How…” Bucky managed to swallow. “How long was that, I can’t… I lost track of time.” The tendrils shifted him again until he was practically bent in half, ankles spread wide, legs up.

“Maybe ninety minutes-- oh, christ, that’s…” Tony was swelling again, almost crying with it as one of the smaller tendrils tugged at his cock, teasing it erect.

A third one, almost gruesomely thick, nudged at Tony’s mouth. Tony sealed his lips, tried to turn his head away, his eyes wide and desperate. The tendrils that were holding his arms writhed a little, wriggling, and Tony’s mouth fell open with a bark of unexpected giggles. “No, no, wait, please don’t tickle--” The tentacle that was pushing at Tony’s mouth forced itself in, distending Tony’s lips, thrusting into his mouth.

Bucky watched, entranced, as Tony was fucked by the ship, the rhythm of the two tentacles pushing and pulling him. Tears leaked down the corners of his eyes and his face and throat were red and it was so fucking beautiful.

Ninety minutes.

Jesus, could they even _live_ through six hours?

When another tentacle offered itself to Bucky’s mouth, he parted his lips, let it slide in. It tasted… sweet. Wet and cool and easy on his throat. He swallowed, and again. Whatever it was fucking into him was giving him strength, revitalizing him.

Making him… oh christ, making him even _more_ sensitive.  

Bucky could see it working; it took longer for it to get Tony back up to performance. Tony wasn’t a supersoldier, so the ship was giving him… more. Whatever it was, water, nutrients, fucking crack-cocaine, Bucky didn’t care. God, he felt amazing. Frantic and needy and horny as shit, but fantastic.

The tendrils popped out, and both of them gasped for breath.

“You okay, soldier?” Tony asked, coughing and spluttering a little.

“Mmmmhmmm.” He opened his eyes a crack and looked at Tony through his lashes. “You gonna do me, now?”

“Seems like,” Tony said, muscles in his arms bunching as he tried to flail around. “This thing is seriously crimping my style.”

“And you’re all about style, aren’t you?” Bucky teased. “Come on, want to feel you.”

Tony gave him a flat, exasperated stare. “Not like I got control over the timing, here, honey.”

“Just tell it what you want, ain’t you figured that out yet? Some genius,” Bucky said. He let his head loll back, feeling the burn in his thighs from being spread like a gymnast’s wet dream. Feeling the ache in his ass as the tendrils started prepping him for Tony.

“Are… are you okay with this, cupcake? I really, really don’t want you to--”

“Tony, listen to me, please. This ain’t how I had it in mind, I won’t argue that,” Bucky told him, earnestly. “But… I want this. And not just because it feels good. But because it’s _you_.”

The tendrils brought Tony closer, and they were kissing again, hard and urgent and wet and messy and perfect.

_Four more hours._

***

Tony was pretty sure his dick was rubbed raw. He didn’t even want to look at himself when the tendrils finally put them both on the ground and retracted back into the ship, which was glowing a cheerful, self-satisfied lilac.

He knew what Bucky looked like. Covered in come and sweat and purple love bites all up and down his throat. Even super soldier serum couldn’t heal them all that fast. Tony probably looked like a victim of a runaway rave. He was pretty sure he had an exact imprint of Bucky’s palm on his ass, too.

They were still holding hands, and Tony was sprawled across Bucky’s chest. God, he could sleep for a _week_. He could sleep for a week after eating his weight at Famous Ray’s pizza.

“I never want to move again,” Bucky said, eyes closed, metal hand absently stroking Tony’s shoulder. The tendrils were completely gone, and Tony still felt… good. He wasn’t sure what would happen when Bucky stopped cuddling him. He was pretty sure he didn’t want Bucky to stop cuddling. He was… less sure that Bucky felt the same way, but the never wanting to move again statement seemed to lean in that direction, at least.

“Mmm,” Tony agreed. Agreeing was easy. He liked agreeing with people. He especially liked agreeing with Bucky. Tony was… _agreeable_. He was going to start making efforts in that direction. It was certainly easier than anything else he’d tried. “Although a bed might be nice. Shower, too.”

“Mmmhmmm,” Bucky said. He kissed Tony’s hair. It felt nice. Affectionate. Fond. That sort of touchy-feely shit that went with caring about someone. Tony felt safe. Protected. _Loved_.

Wait, what?

Tony managed a Herculean effort and managed to lean on one arm enough to look up at Bucky. “You know, we… uh, don’t have to do that anymore. Debt’s paid. We’re done.”

Bucky slitted an eye. “Are you still talkin’ stupid? The ship might be done, we mighta paid for your little dinky tinkertoy there, but I ain’t never gonna be _done_ with you. Not ‘less you don’t want me.”

“Of course I want you,” Tony spluttered. “Maybe not immediately, because ow, I don’t know about you, but ow, ow, and some more ow. Even space lube didn’t cut out all the chaffing, and I have some really wicked beard burn between my thighs, I wonder how that happened, Mr. I am going to eat your ass until you’re screaming.”

“Then what are we yammering on about? You want me, I want you. Seems easy enough.”

“You know… it’s never going to be like that again, right?”

“You are th’ dumbest genius I ever did meet, baby,” Bucky said, chuckling, which bounced Tony around a little and he poked Bucky until Bucky stopped squirming so much. “It’s gonna be like that every goddamn time.” He held up his half of the space semi-sapient goop, which had circled around his wrist and finger like an elaborate bracelet. “They’re connected, can’t you feel it?”

Bucky reached down and tapped Tony’s thigh, metal fingers ringing against Tony’s half, which had snuggled up around him, a thick band just under the curve of his ass. “It breeds, remember? And breeding takes energy. And energy…”

“... comes from joy.” _Oh, god_.

“It’ll be fine, sugarplum,” Bucky told him. “Everything’s gonna be just fine. We’ll get some rest, and then, maybe we’ll take another joyride.”

“You are going to kill me,” Tony said, poking him in the chest. “Kill me, that’s what’s going to happen.”

“What a way to go, though, huh?”

“Can’t think of a better one.”

**fin**

 


End file.
